


Bad Night

by moonsilk



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: SORRY ITS SAD AGAIN
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 03:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10958283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonsilk/pseuds/moonsilk
Summary: Based off of a bad night of my own, starring Wen Junhui. Sorry in advance :(





	Bad Night

Junhui’s hair stood stiff with grease; he tried to ignore it when he ran his fingers through it. “Your lips look like a dried plum,” his sister had remarked as she eyed him from the staircase. “You look kinda dead.” He had only spared her a weary glance and shut the bathroom door. When he reemerged, she was gone.

His phone read 2:24 A.M. “Skirt the color of salmon,” crooned the device’s tiny speaker, “swimming under the wave…”

Cricket chirps blanketed the soft music and the scratching of pencil on paper. The air felt thick in his lungs, against his neck -- he crossed his room and hastily shoved the window open. The cricket song swelled in volume like a wave, insistent. Nighttime was a delicate thing. It could liberate you or shield you, but at times like these, it felt suffocating, like the dark was pressing in against his skull, his ears, his chest. His  _ chest _ . It felt so heavy, like it was about to collapse inwards from pressure.

It was early June. Exams were in a week, and his classmates were dashing across the finish line to rescue fallen grades. Junhui felt like he was slipping off the track itself. The slow, precise sweeps of his hand against paper grew jerky as he mulled. 

Who was he, really? Who did he think he was, wasting away like this? He wanted to laugh at that. What a pretentious thing, to believe that he was ever something of such substance that could undergo the act of wasting.

_ Junhui _ , he told himself,  _ you are a stupid boy. You are stupid for thinking you could be liked, you could be loved, you could amount to something more. _ Jagged slashes of graphite contrasted with the soft shading done earlier, before night had fallen and secluded him within his thoughts.  _ You are a shadow. Your parents prefer your sister, your teachers view you as a failure. You should do better, but you cannot. Nothing will change. _ The last bit wasn’t so much a conscious thought as it was an acceptance, and he took in a shaky breath that rattled his heart so much it fell to the pits of his stomach. 

He could feel it fester there, and his features wrenched horribly at the sudden sob welling inside him. The lanky boy scampered from his desk and buried himself in his covers, looking for any comfort to ease the ache in his chest. It was hollow now, and without support, his sternum threatened to collapse inward. He pressed a pillow against the pain and curled into the point of contact, at once soothed and more miserable. Every breath increased the encapsulating ache. It never diminished, instead coiling around Junhui’s torso and tightening until tears welled in his eyes and streamed horizontally down his face, tickling the hollows between his eyes and his nose and pooling in his ear. He stayed like that for a long while.

It was 3:32 A.M. when he checked his phone, silent. The sceen washed his face in blue-toned light for a moment before he clicked the device off and replaced it by the bedside table. It was cold to the touch. The playlist had ended long ago, and a small hope that someone, somewhere, was aware of his distress had prompted him to check his notifications. He was dissapointed.

Junhui turned towards the wall his bed was pushed against, laying on his side. He didn’t remember when he fell asleep after that.


End file.
